Conference misery::feline_v1

2209.0. "SHORT STORY:In Praise of the Perfect Pet" by VIDEO::MORRISSEY (You left me drowning in my tears) Mon Feb 06 1989 16:11

    This is a short story....reprinted without permission from
    January issue of Cosmopolitan.
    	If the moderators feel the need to delete it, please do so.
    
    	I thought everyone might enjoy it.!
    
    Rustling papers make me look to see what the cat is doing.  Is he
    on the tabletop, where he isn't supposed to be?  Has his tail
    accidentally swept away my notes?  Now what, I think, as I crane
    my head over my computer.  A "cat check" is one of my habits, along
    with never leaving a tuna sandwich unattended and keeping screenless
    windows closed.  My response is reflexive, and for the moment I
    forget that my all-black half-Siamese, Sheemay, doesn't live here
    anymore.
    
    "Well, there goes the cat who knows everything about New York!"
    my sister said when Sheemay died.  She was right.  Sheemay was there
    no matter how many men, jobs, or apartments brightened or blackened
    my days.  My cat was my constant.  Don't laugh; this is a relationship
    for Phil Donahue to explore.
    
    I relied on Sheemay, though I often wished that he had another name.
    Here was a twenty pound tom with a pantherlike body; enormous paws;
    a long, powerful tail; a big heart-shaped head; and a feminine name.
    His first owner claimed to be a Far Easstern linguist, and Sheemay,
    she told me, was Tibetan for cat.  I never verified this, but it
    didn't seem to matter to Sheemay, who knew when he was being summoned
    and would have been nonplussed if I had started calling him Chuck.
    That's what I wanted to do, give him a solid name.  He was the Mister
    T of cats--big, blac, tough, and no pushover.
    
    Whenever a date arrived, Sheemay held back.  He encircled the man's
    feet without touching, and sniffed.  He didn't let just anyone pet
    him, and I think he was trying to set an example.  Yet we didn't
    always have quite the same taste.  Sheemay was particularly fond
    of my East Indian friend, Ajay.  He would sit like a couch sphinx
    pasted to Ajay's thigh.  When Ajay spoke, Sheemay gazed at his mouth
    as if the words were works of art.  It was her worship, yet I never
    knew whether Sheemay was an excellent judge of character--as it's
    said animals and children are--or whether he was intoxicated by
    the smell of jasmine.  Ajay burned scented incense all day long
    in his boutique, and in or out of the store, he was fragrant.  On
    a moonless night, in a dense forest, blindfolded, I would have known
    if Ajay were near.  Sheemay adored him, but as exotically attractive
    as Ajay was, I didn't.
    
    Sheemay didn't sulk over our difference of opinion.  He acknowledged
    the source of his tuna-and-egg and mixed-grill with a warbled whine
    produced by the bleating of his Siamese vocal chords.  He may have
    worshiped Ajay, but Ajay wasn't going to sprinkle Cat Chow in his
    dish or crack open a can of beef and liver.
    
    Sheemay also approved of Ian, who treated him with British nonchalance.
    A fellow journalist, Ian would sit with me at the IBM Selectric
    and we'd pool our talents.  Maybe we could create the next Emmy
    award-winning TV show or work out a book idea, something with 
    best-selling potential, or...play with the cat.  Usually, Sheemay
    curled himself at the back of the typewriter and slept.  The machine's
    warmth and hum anesthetized him for hours, so when he got up for
    a stretch, Ian and I always figured that it was time for us to take
    a break too.  We'd toss a catnip mouse to Sheemay and open a bottle
    of Beaujolais for ourselves.  It seemed a fair deal.  Then we'd
    muse over his leaps and tumbles, watch his pupils change from slits
    to saucers, and analyze his "high" while our own buzzes intensified.
    Even now, it's hard for me to think of Ian without hearing the hum
    of the Selectric and the hum in my head.  Times like those I liken
    to interludes of white sound; they blocked out my fears and confusions.
    
    Funny thing, though: When a date would initiate "cat chat", I'd
    know that he was looking for an exit; this was a man I would never
    hear from again.  He would start with "That's a big cat you've got
    there," then "Really big.  Look at his tail.  And those paws.  What
    do you feed him?"  When I'd sigh and say "Meow-Mix, Tender Vittles,
    tuna and cheese bits,: or become so despondent that "low-ash content"
    spilled out, the chance of a long-lasting relationship was over.
    It was midnight, we were bathed in candlelight, the music was by
    Mozart, and we were engrossed in feline feeding.  When a man doesn't
    want to go any further with you, he talks about the cat.
    
    Well, fair's fair.  You see, Sheemay was often an out for me as
    well--he offered a way to deftly dodge a man's unwelcome advances.
    Take the night that a former college classmate was in town on business.
    Yes, he was married and had three kids, but wasn't the reunion fun
    last year, and wouldn't I like to have dinner with an old friend?
    Of course.  So carl came over.  We went to a restaurant and talked
    about old times.  Then he wanted to make new times, so I talked
    about the cat.  After a half hour of the *he* talked about he cat.
    He finally left, and a few weeks later he sent a postcard from the
    road.  How's the cat? it read.
    
    It's curious for me to realize that Sheemay's life span coincided
    exactly with my single years.  I brought him home to live with me
    only a few months after I moved into my first roommate-free apartment,
    and he died eight months after I moved in with the man who is now
    my permanent roommate, my husband.  I knew Sheemay didn't like the
    arrangement.  He always squeezed himself between David and me when
    we were in bed, as if he were trying to break us up.  He just didn't
    want David around.
    
    Then, to make matters worse, David's daughter was allergic to cats.
    She was away at college but returned for periodic visits.  The
    apartment had to be devoid of cat hairs, so Sheemay had to stay
    in my office or be confined to a bedroom.  He was accustomed to
    full-time company, being on equal terms with humans, and having
    the freedom to roam where he chose.  Suddenly, he was alone or confined
    and always disgruntled, which related, I think, not to my choice
    of a mate but to simple jealousy and to feeling a bit, well, left
    out!
    
    The veterinarian diagnosed Sheemay's kidney disease early on, but
    his problems was complicated by a malfunctioning thyroid, and even
    with medication, his body couldn't battle two debilitating conditions
    at once.  I watched him weaken and wondered how I would manage my
    days without him.  I also felt a little guilty--was Sheemay's partial
    exile hastening his demise?
    
    I remember how much fun it was to have a cat.  I still don't know
    what to do with my hands when I'm thinking of the next paragraph
    I want to write or when I'm waiting for that important phone call
    that will tell me if an article or book proposal is a "go."  During
    such anxious moments, I always used to pet the cat.  I think I used
    to laugh more, too, when Sheemay was near.  Cats are funny.  They
    charge at imaginary targets, chase their tails, and leap at the
    most unexpected moments.  They can also stare at you with incredulous
    wide eyes, making you feel every bit as embarrassed as if you were
    naked on Fifth Avenue.  Sheemay did this and much more--he helped
    me cope.  I doubt that I could have been successfully single without
    him.

    
    nice story....makes me to want to read again...
    
    
    Chris, Ayla and Thumbs

    
    
    I read this the other day in Cosmo.  It is so true.
    Last night a friend was over and I had Dennis on my lap.
    He was just standing on my lap looking over his domain.
    But she noticed immediately the change in me. I had gone
    from a rushing crazy person to a quiet content person.
    She told me that she was jealous of the relationship
    that Denny and I have.
    
    I honestly don't think that people who do not have pets
    understand what they mean to the folks who do.  They are
    a member of the family.  It is devistating when they are
    no longer an active part of the family.  I had a cat we
    put down when she was 18 cause it was the best thing for her.
    And there are still times when I think of her and wish she
    were still around.  But life goes on and you get a new kitty!
    
    Michele

    I too know that contented feeling of having your beloved pets
    surrounding you.  I have four (3 cats, 1 dog) that I love 
    dearly and would be devastated if I should lose one.  I get
    so much love from one hug, purr, meow, woof.  They all run
    to greet me at the door each evening. 
    
    Sandi (Lightning, DejaVu & Thunder's mom) (and Keisha's too)
    
    

      Maybe we need to look at it this way.  If we didn't lose
    some of our animal companions, we'd never get to meet the
    new ones.  
      Nancy DC